Life
by dinkyfairybaby
Summary: M Rated for self harm content, dont read it if you dont like it. Its a different perspective, narated really, with only general musings from the character


**A.N.** Today's mood wasn't pleasant, I sat here in front of my lap top and came up with this. Its depressing so don't read it and tell me so, I know, that's kind of my idea with this – letting the depression out, wondering if I'm the only one with a life like this, who has days like these, its probably going to be a one shot – but review and tell me what you think please.

Life's shit – There's no other explanation for it, either that or someone out there was pointing and laughing at her, and she just knew whoever they were they were getting a bloody good kick out of her.

She was unsure of how much more she could take. Honestly there is only so much one person can go through before the wires snap right? In all honestly she couldn't say she hadn't had an almost perfect childhood. I mean there were the bad times when life went a little rough, and maybe her parents were a little stricter than most, punishing her harshly for things she did which to other kids were simply common place. There were those times when her father had simply lost his temper, and lashed out, hitting his daughter, punching her or using whatever was to hand to smack her with. She knew the difference between those hits and the 'punishment' smacks. But all in all life was pretty good until she reached the age of nine, which is why incidentally 8 was her favourite number.

Then there was the all consuming illness which rapped her family of everything good until she reached 11. Then things improved slightly, that was when she received her letter, whisking her off to school, giving her more things to learn, shoving herself in to her work to get her mind off it all, forcing herself in to being happy, plastering on that fake smile as if it were make up in a morning before facing the world with her 'nothing is wrong face'. But every time she woke up, every time she looked in the mirror and saw those bags under her eyes, those scars on her arms, those memories washed over her in her morning shower and every day she died a little more inside.

Days became weeks, weeks became months and surely enough months became years, and there she was still breathing, still moving, still marching on. But the problem was the years had ground her down, the light that was blinding to see when she was younger, that dimmed when she reached 17, was almost dead by the time she reached 19, by if she was honest with herself she didn't think she could make it last until she was 20. She had tried, normally when people think of 'those' people who give up it's either with scorn or pity, she didn't want either, she didn't want the sympathy, she didn't want anything. All she wanted was a reason to live. She had no one, she had nothing, her job, well the one she was training for was the one she'd wanted to do since she was a little girl, it was if you will 'the dream'. That wasn't enough, she knew from experience you can't live for your job, otherwise you reach the end of your life and what have you to show for it?

Nothing

She simply wanted someone, anyone to love her; in what capacity it didn't matter. She wanted someone to love her for who she was; she needed someone to love her because without love life isn't worth living. 'Without love are you even alive?' she mused to herself. She'd had those friends who 'love' you for a season, or for a while, until they think they've drained you dry of all they can get from you and then they leave. She'd had them, she was done with them. She'd had that first love, who consumed her and then threw her away when things got hard. She'd had her parents leave her to lean how to swim alone in life's harsh currents, she'd had every safety blanket she'd ever known ripped from around her leaving her naked and alone in life. All she wanted was someone to hold on to, someone who would hold her back needing her in the same way she needed them. She needed someone who just loved her, so much that it hurt; all she wanted was to have someone to depend upon. Clearly that was too much to ask from this life, and she wasn't sure if she believed in another life, this one was bad enough, why would she want to live again?

She cried, she cried for the love she once had, she cried for the fact she lost it, she cried because she was afraid that she'd never know it again. She stayed all night in her room, drinking, smoking and laughing bitterly to herself. She wasn't this person, but yet she was, life had made her that way.

Life, funny thing really you were supposed to live it. How come then she didn't feel like she was living but in fact she felt like she was being forced by simple biology to breathe in and breathe out, forcing her to stay alive, she was being monitored to make sure she ate, she was being judged by everyone, keeping her in line, she was in fact being ruled by her environment, and at 19 and a half she had had enough, she wasn't asking for much, she didn't want much, all she wanted was the chance to be happy, and that's all. She was fed up of being pushed around by her friends and enemies alike, she was fed up of living. She wanted to just curl up and not have to feel a thing anymore.

All she felt was pain, and she was fed up of that, she couldn't let herself get to the point where it was all she felt again, then she might slide back in to the old habits, 'the old scars she observed were silvery white, pale against her more creamy tanned skin'. She couldn't go back to those times; it would be to admit defeat. She just couldn't handle another defeat.

But it was already too late, and she watched the blood trickle out, she only made little cuts, small ones together, she watched as the blood pooled first, collecting and then forming a drip, then rolling leaving a red trail behind it on her arm. She knew it had begun again, and there she was, sitting alone in her room bleeding from her arm laughing lightly in her own mind at her foolishness.

She decided in that moment she'd defiantly lost it, but if she'd lost it she may as well enjoy herself and join all those little red marks together right? She hated herself, she hated her life, and she hated them for making her live it.

Hermione Granger had been discarded by everyone she had ever loved and as a result she proclaimed to herself in that moment 'I don't believe in love and I can't be changed.'

Closing her eyes and enjoying that moment where she felt oddly calm she laid back on the floor hummed along to the tune on the stereo softly smiling to herself. She had done it, she'd regressed again, and she couldn't find it in herself right then to be disappointed simply because she felt so much better having let some of it come out, it was out, the dearest expression she felt she could ever make, an expression of herself letting her blood flow out, she felt the pressure release as she laid there and she smiled, letting herself finally succumb to the sleep that had eluded her for weeks.

**A.N.** Well, I may add to it, I may not – tell me what you think


End file.
